


Let Your Heart Hold Fast

by Violetcarson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Dogs, F/M, Firefighter Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Past Castiel/Meg Masters, Pets, Pilot Castiel, San Francisco Bay Area, Search and Rescue, additional tags later maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetcarson/pseuds/Violetcarson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professional firefighter Dean Winchester has spent his life saving people from the tragedy that stole his mother. After an injury during a failed rescue mission takes away his career, he’d really like nothing more than to be left alone. Unfortunately for Dean, interfering family members, a quiet little girl, a retired Air Force Pilot, and a pain in the ass puppy refuse to let him waste away in peace. There's more than one way to be a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Your Heart Hold Fast

**Author's Note:**

> I've been researching and planning this fic since this summer, and I am So Excited it's finally being written! Seriously so much research. Probably too much. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I am not a firefighter, though I took an intro firefighting course as part of my emergency services class sophomore year of high school, which was 4 years ago, so I don’t remember jack. My portrayal of the Incident Command System at a fire and the actions ordered therein is based off my internet research and that one class 4 years ago, and if anyone with more intimate experience of firefighting would like to share feedback, please let me know. My knowledge of emergency services is almost entirely from SAR and my EMS certification. Likewise, if you have any experience with SAR, I would also appreciate feedback to make sure this story stays as true to the emergency services as possible.
> 
> Beta'd by the delightful VeraBAdler. MANY THANKS

 

Let Your Heart Hold Fast

 

_To believe I walk alone_

_Is a lie that I’ve been told_

_So let your heart hold fast_

_For this soon shall pass_

_Like the high tide takes the sand_

 

_~~~_

 

The call came in at 0115 hours the morning of February 2nd – Groundhog Day.

“10-24 Structural fire 1197 Harrison corner with 26, station 9 requesting additional units, station 7 to respond. Repeat 10-24 apartment complex corner of Harrison and 26.”

“10-4 Dispatch, e.t.a. 8 minutes.”

 

Dean pounded out of the living quarters surrounded by the rest of the crew on shift, the alarm tone wailing throughout the bay. As they jogged to their positions, the loudspeaker blared commands: “—Engine 23, Engine 31, Truck 3, Ambulance 2, Ladder 1, respond to fire at…” 

Dean pulled open the door of Truck 3 and began pulling on his gear, starting with the heavy canvas pants. He was finished with the coat in less than 60 seconds (it was part of their yearly reevaluation) and vaulted into the driver’s seat, starting her up and smacking the lightbar on. The truck rumbled to life, deep vibrations beneath his seat. The cycling lights bathed the street with alternating sweeps of red and white as the garage door in front of the rig opened. Benny hauled himself into the seat next to him.

To their left, the ladder truck was already pulling out. In front of it, Andy, guide lights and reflective suit shining, blocked the flow of traffic while they pulled onto the street. The ladder’s sirens started wailing as it pulled away, and Dean shifted into gear in preparation to follow. Eliot and Patrick swung into the rear of the truck, buckling themselves in. Dean glanced back, making sure that everyone was in position. 

Benny had been checking controls on the dash, but he paused for a moment to shoot Dean a wide smile. “You ready, brother?” he asked, fiddling with his radio.

Dean shot him the cocky grin that had been getting him into trouble with the fire chief during their poker game twenty minutes ago. “Damn straight. Let’s go kick some ass and save some people.”

Benny slapped his shoulder and drawled into his radio, “Dispatch, this is station 7. All units en route.”

Andy waved them up and Dean set the siren to screaming as they pulled out, onto 19th and then immediately right on Folsom. The rig barreled down the street, past the empty four-story high school which always creeped Dean out in the middle of the night, and past an equally empty-looking line of townhouses. A small blue sedan tried valiantly to beat the truck to the intersection and he dodged it, muttering under his breath about asshole civilians. He listened vaguely to the information being relayed by dispatch on the radio in Benny’s hand as he turned yet again, pulling onto Harrison. 

The fire was visible from two blocks away, the blaze lighting up the night sky. There was a disgustingly cheery house exposed to the left of the apartment complex, painted bright white with revolting teal shutters, that looked like it might go up next if they didn’t get the fire contained. And really, Dean thought to himself as he pulled up behind a line of other emergency vehicles across the street from the fire, that thing getting a bit singed and needing a different paint job might not be a bad thing. 

The apartment complex itself had visible flames along a line of windows on the left half on the second floor, with smoke billowing out in dark curls everywhere. Streams of smoke ran across the moon constantly, making the crescent filter in and out of view.

Dean cut the sirens as he parked, and he hopped out the door while the other guys finished with their gear and began prepping for entry. He looked around through the chaos of flashing lights and incoherent shouts to find his chief. Henrickson was standing by the fence of a dark park, conferring with another man who Dean assumed was the IC. Dean jogged up and stopped to wait beside several other company officers. Henrickson finished his conversation and turned to them, the frown on his face lit by the fire behind them. 

“Alright listen up. We’ve got three stories. The first engine was on-scene fast enough that we’re playing this offensively. They’ve got two engine companies attacking from the outside and a ladder preparing to ventilate the roof. The initial evac wasn’t conclusive and there’s a truck company sweeping the first floor now with a handline. Kate, Eli, you’re to assist in containment. The second to third floor stairwell has been compromised. Tracy’s company is going in on the ladder with a handline to sweep the third floor. The structure is sound and should hold for as long as it takes to make the sweep. Dean, your company is going in on the second, using the stairwell in the front entrance, as soon as their company finishes its sweep of the first floor. We’re thinking the source is near the rear of the building on the second floor. Locate it if you can, otherwise make sure it’s empty and get out. Don’t pull anything crazy, don’t get cocky. Get in, get out, keep your men safe.”

“Affirmative, sir.” Dean and the other officers began to move off, Tracy already on her radio relaying instructions to her team. Dean passed by the group of gawkers being cordoned off by police. 

“Dean! Dean!” someone shouted, and Dean whipped around. A familiar face towered over the other bystanders, waving frantically. Sam looked like he’d rolled out of his bed directly into his car, with his stupidly long hair sticking up on one side and his shirt half tucked into his jeans. 

Dean jogged over, glancing at Henrickson. “Sammy, I don’t have time, my company’s about to move in. What are you doing here?”

Sam looked frantic. “Dean, shit, it’s Meg. Ruby’s friend, Meg Masters? She brought her daughter to our house a few hours ago. She does that sometimes, the girl is Ruby’s goddaughter. Dean this is where she lives. She lives on the second floor, and she’s not out here. She’s got to be inside still.”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean swore. “And you’re sure she’s here?”

Sam nodded, eyes wild. “Yeah, definitely. Ruby called her about three hours ago. I came when I heard the address on the police scanner.”

Dean set his jaw firmly. “We’ll get her Sam, don’t worry.”

He began to turn away but Sam grabbed his arm. “Dean, Meg is – Meg used to be into some pretty hardcore shit. She’s been clean lately, but there’s a chance she was using.” 

Dean closed his eyes and heaved a breath before turning away, pulling his radio off his belt. “All units, possible 10-43, overdose victim located on second floor. Requesting ALS to standby. Truck 3 company prepare for entry and rescue operations.”

 

“Captain Winchester, weather conditions are deteriorating. The fire is advancing in Division 3. Return your company to exterior for defensive actions.”

“10-4, just as soon as I save these people,” he growled and dropped the radio. Benny was aiming the handline in a wide stream at the flame that was licking over the walls around them. Dean bent to check the man on the floor in front of him. There was no way to check his vitals in full gear, but he held steady, hands cupped around the space between the man’s mouth and his helmet. He paused, held very still, and waited.

The glass fogged.

“We got a breather!” Dean yelled into his radio. “Unconscious patient, no signs of trauma, outbound.” He switched his focus to Benny. “Lafitte, you’re to remove this man. I’m going to check those last two rooms.”

“Dean, we need to get out—”

Dean cut him off. “I am your Captain, and this is an order. Get out and get this man out. Do it.”

Dean couldn’t see his face through the thickening smoke, but Benny hesitated, looking like he was about to argue. Dean stood, powered down the handline, and jerked it from his grasp. “Get him out of here, Benny,” he snarled, and moved forward, turning the handline back on. 

He didn’t look back, but he heard Henrickson cursing on his radio. Eliot and Patrick had already left the building, carrying a vic with a cervical collar and backboard. The woman had apparently fallen down the stairwell in her panic to escape, and stabilizing her had cost them minutes they didn’t have – minutes during which the semi-orderly assault on the midsized fire had fallen to pieces. Dean didn’t know if it was mismanagement on the part of the IC or just the typical shitty luck that could happen with even the most contained blaze, but this building was about to become a deathtrap.

He paced up the hallway, past walls which had been light green, with a floral wallpaper border, but were now stained all over with streaks of gray. Patches of flame licked across the ceiling and he turned the handline on the flame as he passed. The carpet under his heavy boots crackled in long strips where it was singed. “Meg, Meg Masters,” he called as he went. “This is the fire department. Is there anyone still in here? Is Meg Masters here?” 

There were two apartments left, one on either side of the crumbling hallway. He paused just long enough to look them both over, then went with his gut and took the left.

The door was unlocked so he pulled the latch and stepped back before kicking it fully open. The living room, or what was left of it, was an inferno. The drapes formed a wreath of fire around the windows and the couch in front of them made a wall of flame. An entertainment center nearby was a solid column of flickering orange. Smoke was everywhere, swirling across his vision in thick clouds, blocking his line of sight to the rest of the apartment. A door on the left wall close to the windows was open and he went for it. 

As he strode across the room, aiming the handline at the mass of flame centered around the window, his boot kicked an object loose on the floor. It was a toy, a stuffed rabbit, white fur singed gray. He stepped over it and paused momentarily

His radio crackled again. “Winchester, we’re sending two members of your company back in to retrieve you. Get out of there right now. The damn thing’s about to collapse in the back.”

He ignored the radio, instead making his way to the open door, brushing a cluster of falling embers from the strap of his SCBA as he went. He shut down the handline as he entered.

It was a bathroom, and it was almost entirely intact. An unconscious woman was slumped over the edge of the bathtub, a line of vomit trailing down the ceramic edge from her mouth. 

“Son of a _bitch_!” Dean swore again. He hastily grabbed his radio as he knelt beside her. “I found the OD victim. Patient appears to be unconscious. On my way out with her now. Prepare ALS.”

He dropped the radio back to his side and lifted her carefully. He sat her on the edge of the tub, leaning against the wall, and shook her gently. “Meg. Meg, can you hear me?” Her head lolled, jaw slack, hair falling forward to hide her heart-shaped face. 

“Shit,” he muttered, throat tight.

There was a series of sharp snaps in the ceiling, and a groan from the stressed wood. It was past time to get the hell out. He pulled her over his shoulder, reaching between her legs to grab one of her wrists in a traditional fireman’s carry, and grabbed the handline. Before he stood up, he eyed the rabbit again, which had been kicked into the doorway. Before he could think about it too much, he grabbed it and stuffed it under his coat between his suspender and shirt. It burned, hot against his skin through his t-shirt, but he left it in place. 

He took Meg’s full weight, and staggered slightly as he exited. He kept the handline off, dragging it behind him. The glass of the windows was starting to warp, and as he watched, a spiderweb of cracks arced over the surface, loud popping noises zinging through the intervening space. 

Way past time.

He jogged for the exit, moving as quickly as he could. Straining metal screeched behind him as he moved out into the hallway, ducking a section of ceiling crashing to the floor. Glass shattered inside the apartment – the window giving out – and the fire _roared_. Backdraft.

The explosion of superheated air rocked him, sending him stumbling. A massive surge of flame rushed out of the open doorway, but thank fuck, he wasn’t close enough to get himself or the woman over his shoulders caught in it.

“Dean!” Benny was in front of him, at the far end of the hallway, another firefighter behind him.

He was almost to them, less than 15 feet away, when the ceiling gave. He heard it groan an instant before a beam hammered into his lower back. He collapsed forward, knocked flat, and Meg rolled off. Her body sprawled out in front of him. Pain radiated from his lower back as he began to push himself up with a groan. Benny was shouting something, and he raised his head slowly, dazed. Just as Benny reached him, stretching out a desperate hand, the inferno engulfed him. Fiery pain erupted in his right leg, and then fiery pain erupted everywhere. His vision whited out.

 ~~~

Castiel was eating dinner when the call came.

His hip vibrated, and he held up a hand, interrupting Gabriel’s entirely exaggerated story. Gabe harrumphed. “I mean sure, whatever, banging international models totally isn’t important. I can wait.”

“Gabe, shut up.” The caller ID was unknown, but he recognized the California area code. 

“Hello?” Cas murmured into the line as he answered. 

“Castiel? Cas? Oh shit, thank fucking God. I was so afraid you’d changed your number.” The woman on the line sounded desperate.

“Ruby, is that you? Why are you calling? It’s the middle of the night in California.” Gabe stiffened, dropping the affronted look and watching Cas intently.

“Oh God, Cas, I’m sorry, but I had to call you. Fuck, it’s Meg.”

A cold shiver shot down his spine and he blinked, his eyelids fluttering before he squeezed them tightly shut. “Ruby. What happened?”

“There was a fire in her apartment. It’s – the whole thing is gone. Meg’s in the hospital, but they don’t think she’s gonna make it. Cas, she’s dying.”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut so he couldn’t see Gabe staring at him with that horrified expression. “Ruby, what about Grace? Where is she? Is she okay?”

Ruby let out a sob, then heaved deep breaths, struggling to contain herself. “Grace is fine. She was with me and Sam for the night. She’s here at the hospital with us.”

Cas was breathing quickly now but he held himself together, rigid in his seat. “Can you put her on the phone, please?”

“Yeah, just a minute, just a minute, she’s with Sam.” Ruby gasped, breath hitching, and Cas ran nervous fingers through his hair. He bit his lip, grinding his teeth in and savoring the sting, and shaded his eyes with his hand.

As Ruby handed the phone off, he heard her say, “How is he? Did the doctor—” and then…

“Daddy?” Grace’s voice was timid, quavering.

Cas choked out a quick sob. “Oh Grace, yes. It’s me, angel.”

“Daddy!” The word drew out into a wail.

“Oh baby, shhh, I’m here, I’m here.”

“No you’re not, Daddy. You’re not here,” she sobbed.

Cas pictured her as she was now, though he’d only seen her in photographs for the last two years. Drawn tightly around herself and around the phone, messy blond curls falling into her face, those beautiful blue eyes rimmed in red.

He sighed. “No, I’m not, angel, I’m in Japan right now. But I will be. I’ll come back as soon as I can, I swear.”

Gabe rapped sharply on the table. Cas unshaded his eyes, glancing up at him. His usual grin was gone, and he was completely serious for possibly the first time since Cas had met him. His voice was steady. “I’ll call the base, get started on checking protocol. This will count for humanitarian reassignment, I’m sure of it. We’ll get you there ASAP.”

Cas closed his eyes again. “Thank you Gabriel,” he rasped. Gabe gripped his shoulder tightly as he stood up and passed behind him, exiting the dining room of Cas’ apartment.

Grace was still sobbing on the other end of the line. “Grace, darling, can you put Ruby back on for just a minute? I need to speak with her.”

Grace hiccuped and whispered, “Okay.” The line rustled as she passed the phone.

“Cas? What is it?”

“Ruby, listen. If…If Meg doesn’t make it, your boyfriend is a lawyer, yes? If…it’s necessary, please, would you have him begin working to make sure I gain custody? I will pay whatever is necessary.” He cleared his throat, but the lump in his throat refused to budge, tightening its grip. “I can’t – I can’t let Grace go to Meg’s family. I know I gave up custody with the divorce, but there must be something we can—”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” she interrupted him, voice gentle. “Sam’ll take care of it.” She paused. “And he’s actually my fiancee now.” She gave a quiet, strained laugh.

“Congratulations, Ruby, that’s wonderful,” Cas murmured.

“Yeah, but now with this, I just don’t— Cas, she’s one of my bridesmaids.”

Ruby had been Meg’s maid of honor at their wedding 10 years ago. Cas shuddered at the memory, at the fact that Meg was dying. Fuck.

“I bet Meg is very pleased to finally return the favor.” 

Ruby choked on another sob. “Yeah, yeah, she’s so excited about it,” she said. “Here, I’ll give you back to Grace.”

Cas stood slowly, leaving everything half eaten in the middle of his table, and moved to the armchair in the living room. He pulled his computer off the coffee table, flipping it open to begin checking who he needed to contact about getting reassigned. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem. His commission expired in May regardless. He had planned on remaining in the Air Force for another 10 years, but that wasn’t going to be possible now.

“Daddy?” Grace asked again. Her voice was quieter now, tired. She’d almost cried herself out. 

“Yes, Grace, I’m back. I’ll stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep, alright? It’s really late there, and you’ve probably been up for hours.”

 ~~~

Oblivion was reluctant to let go, and consciousness dragged him back slowly. For a long while, it was just too easy to relax, and sink into the hazy warmth surrounding him. But then other noises intruded, relentless, refusing to leave him lost and drifting.

He groaned and opened his eyes to the terse, bitten-off sounds of quiet arguing. The arguing stopped as soon as he made a noise and blinked himself awake.

“Sammy?” he rasped. 

A large, warm hand wrapped around his, and Dean slowly shifted his gaze away from the ceiling. “Yeah, Dean, I’m right here.” Sam was next to him, perched on the edge of a hospital chair. Ruby was seated beside him, eyes tight. 

Dean closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, trying to focus. “Sammy, what happened?”

Ruby stood up abruptly. “I’ll go find a nurse, let them know you’re awake,” she said, already turning around. She stopped herself halfway out the door, and turned back to flash him a strained smile. “It’s good to see you back, Deano,” she added, before bolting from the room. 

Sam watched her go with a frown, then turned back to Dean with a sigh. “Part of the second and third floors collapsed while you were on your way out. Benny dug you out and carried your sorry ass back down, just in time for the rest of the building to go. The doctors say you have a fractured tibia, severe bruising on your ribs, and a lower back that’s misaligned, but you’re alive.”

Dean took several slow breaths. “What about Meg?” he asked. “Did someone get her out too? Did she make it?”

Sam closed his eyes, and looked down at his clasped hands.

Dean turned away, dropping Sam’s hand. “Dammit.” The word got caught in his throat, and he felt the corners of his eyes burn. 

He blinked it away.

“She lasted long enough that her daughter got to say goodbye. She only regained consciousness once, for just a minute, but Grace was there. Meg couldn’t talk to her, the smoke was too much, but she did wake up. You did that Dean. You got her out of there.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I didn’t get there fast enough. I didn’t get her out in time.”

“Dammit,” Sam growled, “that’s bullshit and you know it. Meg overdosed on coke. She’d been clean for years, and then she picked exactly the wrong night to take almost twice the amount she did when she was using regularly, and her system couldn’t take it. That’s just how it goes sometimes when an addict relapses after prolonged abstinence.” Sam didn’t say that he knew this much because he was there when she was using before. That he was beside her, thin shoulders shaking,  snorting his college fund up his nose. 

Sam reached out and clamped his fingers down on Dean’s shoulder, his grip a vice. “The fire started in the apartment next to hers where some asshole screwed up with his gas stove, and you probably couldn’t have saved her even if you hadn’t stopped to save those other people. In case you don’t remember, two other people are still alive because of you and your men. And even though Meg died, her daughter got to say goodbye. That’s important. You are _not_ at fault here.”

Dean didn’t turn back. He ignored his brother's cursing and stared out the window. 

On the shelf beneath it, the nurses had placed a bin with the clothes he'd been wearing when he was brought in. On top of his folded SFFD t-shirt was the rabbit toy, white fur stained gray with ash. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come hang out with me on tumblr.](clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com)


	2. Stubborn Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wanted to scream. He wanted this man to scream. He wanted him to tear into Dean, rip into him with bloody words, leave him in tattered pieces. He was wrong.  
> “You don’t think you deserved to make it out of there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession. I almost forgot about Adam.
> 
> I guess the Supernatural writers aren’t the only who do that. :/
> 
> Sidenote, the song for this chapter was originally Click Click Click Click by Bishop Allen, which was the song that gave me the idea for this fic in the first place, but then I listened to Stubborn Love on repeat while writing so that happened instead. Whoops.
> 
> Next update next week sometime, I'm going slower than I'd like because I'm fostering a couple rescued pups and they're a really adorable pain in the butt.
> 
> Beta'd with much skill by VeraBadler.
> 
> Now for our chapter, alternately titled: In Which Dean Winchester Is Unfortunately Not A Slutty Bridesmaid

Stubborn Love

 

_And I don’t blame you dear_

_For running like you did all these years_

_I would do the same, you’d best believe_

_And the highway signs say we’re close_

_But I don’t read those things anymore_

_I never trusted my own eyes_

 

_So keep your head up, my love_

 

~~~

 

Dean wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his belt as he leaned against the hood of the Subaru Outback. His hands still weren’t used to the feel of grease constantly under his fingernails, the way they had been back in high school. Now they remembered thick canvas, layers of ash, and other people’s blood. 

For a moment he saw himself throwing the towel down, stomping it into the ground, and walking away without looking back.

He put the towel back into his belt, exactly as it had been. 

He grabbed his cane from its place leaning against the Subaru and limped slowly toward the front of the garage. It was two months to the day after the fire and his leg still refused to work properly, the damn thing. “Bobby,” he called as he passed the open office door. “The Subaru is done. I’m heading home.”

There was a clunk from inside followed by a stream of curses. “Goddamn piece of—Dean, get in here.” Dean snorted and ducked into the office. 

Bobby was bent over, picking a hideous bobblehead doll off the floor. It was supposed to be a smiling cartoon panda, except only the body was under the desk. The head rolled sedately across the floor towards Dean and he stopped it under his boot. “Having trouble there, Bobby?”

Bobby scowled at him. “Jo got it for me. Damn kid thinks she has a sense of humor.”

“You should be grateful she didn’t give you something worse. One of those little plant-pet things. Or maybe a Snuggie.”

“You watch it boy, or I’ll give _you_ a Snuggie. For Christmas and your birthday both. Get your sister in on it, too, and make your family holidays hell.” Bobby glared at him, straightening up with the decapitated panda in hand. 

Dean grinned cheekily at him, the familiar banter easy to fall into. “Jo wouldn’t go for it. She owes me something awesome after the tickets I gave her last year.”

Bobby harrumphed. He snatched the head out of Dean’s hand and set it haphazardly on top of the body. It hung off at an awkward angle, trying feebly to keep bobbling. Bobby stared down at it, hands on his desk.

“Dean,” he started, and Dean’s good humor faded immediately, draining away like water. “How are you doin’?”

Dean grunted noncommittally. “I’m fine, Bobby.”

Bobby turned his head, fixing Dean with a stare from under the brim of his cap. “Dean.”

Dean looked away. 

Bobby sighed. “Look, kid, we’re worried about you. All of us. Ellen especially.”

Dean studied the line of portraits on the wall. Ellen and Bobby’s wedding, both Mary and John Winchester in the wedding party. Dean’s, Sam’s, and Jo’s senior pictures. Jo in India on a trip she’d taken in college. Sam’s college graduation. One of the only pictures of them with Adam, when his foster parents had let him visit for an entire summer – they’d gone up in the mountains, stayed at one of Bobby’s friends’ cabins in the Sierra Nevadas. 

Dean in a line with a group of other smokejumpers during his training in Idaho. His friend Jake was in that one, smiling for once.

Dean turned back to Bobby, plastering on an empty grin. “You know me. I’m doing great. All this time off, only working half days, I’m just sitting around getting fat and happy, watching X-Files reruns.”

“That so?” Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“You'd better believe it.”

“Well.” Bobby shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk. “Since you’ve got all this extra time you’re wasting, I’ve got something to keep you busy for the next ten years or so.” He pulled a thin book out from the desk and slapped it into Dean’s hands. 

Dean stared at the white and red cover. “ _Training the Search and Rescue Dog_? This is a joke, right?”

Bobby shook his head. “No joke, boy.”

“Dammit, Bobby, what the hell are you thinking?” Dean meant to sound cold, but it just came out tired.

Bobby glared. “I’m thinkin’ you've spent your entire life trying to save everyone you possibly could and now you’re convinced you can’t do it any more, just because of a busted leg.” He fixed Dean with a stern eye.

Dean started for the door. “Bobby, I’m not going to talk about this.”

Bobby grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back around. “Hold it, ya idgit. I ain’t done talkin’ yet.”

“What do you want, Bobby?” Dean demanded. “What do you expect me to do? I can’t even walk without a damn cane, how the hell would I take care of a dog? I don’t know a damn thing about them, alright, I haven’t had a dog since I was nine and we were still living with my dad.”

“Yeah, and you and your brother loved that mutt to within an inch of his life. In case you’re having trouble remembering, I was there Dean.”

“Bobby,” Dean started. “I can’t, okay? I just—I can’t. Okay? So we’re done here.”

“We’re not done here unless you swear you’ll think about it,” Bobby growled. “Rufus’ dog is getting real close to needing to be retired and the breeder the team uses has a bitch that just whelped. In a few weeks, they’ll be ready to go.”

“Whatever. Fine. I’ll think about it, alright? But it’s not gonna happen.” Dean frowned. “And when the hell did you join Rufus’ Search and Rescue team, anyway? I think I woulda noticed something like that.”

Bobby frowned right back. “Maybe you should spend less time running away from your family, then. Might learn a thing or two.”

Dean tried to ignore the surge of guilt. He rubbed his neck. “Look, Bobby, it’s just…”

“I know, Dean.” Bobby’s voice was still gruff, but softer. “I know. Just, well, try coming around more often, alright? Ellen keeps threatening to come beat your ass till you apologize for worrying her. And I’ve seen more of you in the past couple weeks of having you here than I have since you moved back. Which is dumb as hell 'cause you live half an hour away.”

Dammit. Dean _hated_ it when Ellen worried about him. It always felt like a personal failure to disappoint the woman who was more his mother than anyone else. 

“I guess I could swing by for dinner this weekend,” he said slowly. “Tell her to chill out. And not to send Jo after me.”

“That’s more like it,” Bobby grumbled.

“Can I leave now? Seriously, I can’t take much more of this feelings shit.”

“Get out of here. And take the book.” He slapped it against Dean’s shoulder as he spoke.

“Yeah I got it. Still not happening.” He took the book, though.

“Think about it, Dean.” Bobby’s call followed him out the office door and to the Impala. 

His hand hovered by the radio as he turned the engine over, but he left it silent. He pulled out of the shop and onto Highway 89.

He’d never quite managed to get over just how green California was. Massive leafy trees blended together at the very edges of the road, indistinguishable from the trees beside them and the tall bushes below. The masses of deciduous trees would give way periodically to thickets of redwoods, towering over everything. No matter which trees dominated the highway, everything was layered in the endless green of late spring, dotted with flowers, colorful breaks between leaves. 

When he pulled onto the highway that ran along the water, he lowered his windows. The ocean-laced breeze rolled through the Impala and ruffled his hair. A few people were scattered across the beach that he passed, though the cloud cover was heavy. It was probably going to rain later.

The trees gave way to low rolling hills and then to the marshes of the preserve, and then he was in Pescadero. It was a tiny town. Like, ridiculously small – less than a thousand people. His house was another fifteen minutes out along a back road, right in the middle of the redwoods – just about as far away as he could get without his family bitching at him. He’d picked the location deliberately when he’d moved back three years ago.

Somehow, despite all that, Sam’s car was parked in his driveway as he pulled up. He stayed in his seat for a moment and stared at the innocent gray Tesla. “Dammit, Sam,” he murmured.

Sam immediately pulled him into a hug as he walked through the door. “Get off me, bitch.” 

“Shut up, jerk,” was Sam’s automatic reply. “I’m just glad to see you. It’s been two weeks. What the hell, Dean?”

“Sorry, just haven’t felt like company lately.” Sam finally dropped the hug, but he kept a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Look Dean, if you aren’t going to come over and see me, I’m coming to see you.”

“ _We’re_ coming to see you. God, Sam. What am I, the chauffeur?” Ruby called from the living room.

“Get out of my house Ruby,” Dean said as a matter of course.

“Not happening. Get the hell in here, anyway, there’s someone we’d like you to meet.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, but his dumbass brother just grinned. He gave in and limped into the other room.

Ruby was reclining on his couch, footrest up, smirking. Curled into her side was a little girl, blond curls messy, massive blue eyes staring at him, unblinking.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t ya?” Dean muttered, but he walked slowly to the couch. “Hey there. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Grace,” Ruby offered, tapping the girl lightly on the shoulder. “She’s staying with us for a couple more weeks until her dad gets discharged.” Grace glanced at Ruby for a moment before turning her unwavering gaze back to Dean.

“So you’re Meg’s kid, huh?” Dean looked down, studying the pattern of the wood. He’d still been in the hospital during the funeral. Sam had said they’d had to put it off as long as possible so Meg’s ex-husband could make it. “And your dad’s in the military?”

The little girl didn’t reply until he looked back up at her. She spoke slowly, testing each word out as it left her mouth. “Yeah. My daddy’s in the Air Force. But he’s going to come get me soon.”

Dean felt Sam there, hovering by his right shoulder. He ignored his brother and sat down in the armchair, resisting the urge to groan audibly. “My dad was a Marine, mine and Sam’s. Before we were born though, so he was around when we were kids.”

She tilted her head at him, staring again, and began to slide slowly off the couch. It was one long continuous motion, body moving like a liquid down to the floor, and she ended up cross legged in front of the couch. She stood up and walked carefully, picking her steps, over to Dean. When she was right in front of him, she placed her tiny hands softly on his knees. It was impossible to look away from those massive blue eyes.

“You’re the one who saved my Mommy?” she asked.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.” He coughed. “Yeah, I got her out.”

“Thank you,” she said simply, and then threw her arms around his neck. It was an awkward hug, her scrawny little arms squeezing tightly around his throat.

Dean was frozen at first, unsure what to do, but slowly his arms closed around her. He patted her back gingerly, and her arms tightened, making it hard to breathe. She started to cry, small hiccoughing half-sobs, and he was unable to do anything but pull her fully into his lap and hold on as she cried. 

 

~~~

 

Castiel had retired from the U.S. Air Force two days ago and it was like the ground had disappeared from under his feet.

Or maybe it was like the wind beneath his wings had just disappeared, and now he was plummeting in freefall.

He had no idea what he was doing any more.

“Grace, what would you like for dinner?”

The little girl shrugged, turning over the block in her hands. A half-constructed tower rose from the cream carpet in front of her, but she hadn’t placed a new piece for several minutes. She set her current block in position, shifted it, and took it off again to fiddle with some more.

Castiel closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples to avoid the oncoming headache. She’d barely spoken to him all afternoon. He was trying, he really was. But he didn’t know how to raise a child.

 He’d seen his daughter only a handful of times since she was an infant. After the divorce, he could have fought for joint custody, but he hadn’t. Maybe he'd thought Grace would be better off without him, without a father who couldn’t stay, who could never be there for her all the time. It was better if he wasn’t there at all to disrupt her or Meg’s lives. He paid more than was required for his child support and kept contact to a couple of phone calls a year and brief visits when he was on leave. It was for the best.

Even if he spent the first year without his daughter, and many nights after that, smoothing his thumb over a picture of her and swallowing his regrets down with bourbon, it was for the best.

Now he had no choice. Meg was dead, and their daughter had no one else.

God, Meg was dead. Sometimes the thought would overtake him, and he’d sway back on his feet. The very foundations of his world were unstable. He shook his head. He had to focus. For his daughter’s sake, he had to keep it together.

He knelt next to Grace, sliding a hand onto her shoulder. “This is excellent construction, Grace. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

She gave him a small smile, ducking her head. “Thanks.”

“How would you like a grilled cheese for dinner? I believe there’s some orange juice as well.” He reached out slowly, carding his fingers through her messy hair, slightly ratted in the back from when she’d fallen asleep on the couch.

She nodded without looking at him, continuing to turn over her single block. “Okay.”

He patted her head lightly as he rose, heading to the kitchen. He prepared the food, slicing the crusts off with precision, and brought everything back to the living room. Grace looked up again when he sat down beside her. Before he could set the plate down she dropped the block and slid into his lap. He froze, arms awkwardly half-raised, holding the cup and plate.

“Is it okay if I sit with you, Daddy?” she asked, barely above a whisper. 

Cas’s throat constricted around a sudden lump, and he closed his arms around her. “Of course, angel.” The endearment slipped off his tongue without thought. It was the only thing he’d ever called her besides her name, but that had been when she was an infant, cooing up at him from her crib.

Grace was almost finished with her sandwich when she twisted around to stare up at him. “Yes?” he asked when an explanation wasn’t forthcoming.

“You forgot to make a grilled cheese for you, Daddy.” She frowned at him.

Castiel’s throat tightened again, and he forced a smile for her. “That’s alright, Grace. I’m not hungry.”

She pursed her mouth, disbelieving.

The doorbell rang. Grace stood up without prompting, clutching the remainder of her sandwich and following Cas as he answered the door.

A short brunette strolled past him the moment he opened the door. “Hey, Cas.” She shot him a quick grin, then ignored him, dropping to her knees before Grace. “Heya Gracie! How ya doin’?”

Grace broke out into a full-blown smile, but set her plate and glass down carefully before throwing herself forward. “Aunt Ruby!”

Castiel tried not to feel jealous. His daughter looked happier than he’d seen her since the funeral.

“Ruby, this is…a surprise. I didn’t expect you so soon.” Cas tried not to appear too stiff.

“Figured I’d come see how she was settling in. I’m just glad you decided to stay in San Francisco. Come on, short stack, don’t I get a hug?”

Grace had been clutching to Ruby’s biceps, indecisive as to whether she should cling or not, and rocking back and forth. She decided to go for it, lunging forward and throwing her skinny arms around Ruby’s neck. 

“Oof! That’s quite a grip. Have you gotten stronger already?” Grace grinned at her.

Castiel fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I can’t stay that long. I just wanted to come by and see how Grace is. And you too, Cas. How are you doing?”`

He blinked. “Fine. Of course. Everything is fine.”

Ruby stood, pulling away from Grace’s hold. “Grace, how about you go put your plate and stuff away? Give me a minute to talk to your dad, okay?”

Grace glanced between them before nodding and disappearing into the kitchen.

Ruby looked him square in the eye, despite being more than half a foot shorter. 

“Cas, I know we were only friends in college because of Meg, and it’s been years since we’ve actually had a conversation. But that’s bullshit. If I know anything about you, you’ve been running yourself ragged since the funeral, trying to do everything except take care of yourself.” She glanced at the doorway through which Grace had disappeared and sighed. “Look. I’m getting married in a couple weeks. I know it’s been awhile, and it’s probably kind of strange, but I want you there. And I especially want Grace to come.”

Cas stared at her. “No, I couldn’t impose like that. Weddings are a time to be shared with family and close friends, a time to celebrate.”

Ruby snorted. “Bullshit. Weddings are an excuse to drink and show off to all the people you were kind of friends with in high school and college, and prove you’ve one-upped them since then. And of course, a reason for extended family members to pretend they don’t hate you and each other and take lots of pictures to prove it. Did I mention the free booze?”

She glared him down, even though her eyes were on a level with his chest. “And more importantly Cas, you _are_ family. Grace is my goddaughter, and Sam and I both want you two around as much as possible. It’s already a little lonely at our place without her.” She looked into the kitchen where Grace was standing on a stepstool, carefully rinsing her plate. “And ya know what? I think I have an opening in the bridal party.” Her smile was positively vicious.

She spoke again before he could do anything but stare. “Besides,” she winked. “Maybe you can pick up one of my slutty bridesmaids.”

 

~~~

 

The last Saturday in April dawned overcast and rainy, which was unusual only because this was freaking Northern California and, according to Ruby, clear skies had been predicted for this day for, like, years or something. 

But hey, Winchester luck was notoriously awful. Why should one of them getting married mean any different? Hoo-fricking-rah.

Dean had been lying awake for several minutes, musing over the solid gray between the trees outside his window, when Sam burst in. 

“Dean! It’s raining!” Dean glanced up. The overgrown girl was standing next to Dean’s bed, actually wringing his hands. 

“No shit.” Dean pulled a pillow over his face.

Sam started pacing. “Dean, the ceremony is supposed to be outdoors. The chairs are already set up. What are we—”

Dean tuned out the tirade, blindly groping for the phone on his bedside. He hit a speed dial without looking, and held the phone up to his ear. 

“Dean, it’s 7 a.m., _what?”_ Ruby snarled.

“Have you looked outside?” he asked, chucking the pillow at Sam. 

There was a brief pause. “Damn,” she sighed.

“Your girlfriend is freaking out. I think he might swoon. You should come get him out of my house.” 

Sam glared at him. “Give me the phone,” he mouthed. Dean flipped him off.

“He’d cry if I saw him before the wedding. It was his idea to spend the week at your place, so he’d have the romantic wedding night every girl dreams of.” She was shuffling through papers now. 

Dean glanced at Sam in time to receive a spectacular bitchface. Dean covered the mouthpiece. “No. You lost phone privileges when you flipped your shit in my bedroom at the asscrack of dawn. Suck it.” He uncovered the phone. “You’re just as excited as Sam is to have your special night, hell-bitch, don’t lie.”

“Dean!” Sam said, indignant at the insult to his fiancé.  

“Fuck off, Winchester,” Ruby grumbled.

“You’re about to become one, don’t bad-mouth the name.”

“Okay, I found the number for our contact at the farm. Let me talk to Sam.” Only Sam and Ruby would think it was romantic to get married at a friggin’ goat farm. 

Dean finally passed over the phone and sank back into his bed. He was slightly hungover from the third after-bachelor-party party he’d thrown Sam the night before, which had consisted of them both getting plastered in his living room so Sam would quit worrying. Which led to him just trying to drunk-dial Ruby instead.

Sam smiled unconsciously when he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey. Yeah, sorry. Okay, that guy definitely talked about rain options when we picked the place. Yeah, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” He walked out of the room scratching at the back of his neck.

“Next time call her yourself instead of waking me up!” Dean called after him. He hadn’t been asleep, though. He hadn’t been able to sleep past dawn in too long. Years of getting up at five or waking up in the middle of the night to leap into a truck or a helicopter had made sleep a tenuous thing.

He stared up at the boring, off-cream-whatever ceiling. He’d rather challenge Ellen to a drinking match or eat Bobby’s cooking than admit it, but it was kind of nice to know that even on the day he got married as a grown-ass man, Sam still came to Dean first when something went wrong, confident his big brother would help him fix the problem. He was still basically the same little snot-nosed runt who would sneak into Dean’s room in the middle of the night and stare at Dean like a creeper until his brother got up to make whatever monsters were hiding in his closet go away. 

There hadn’t been much point in trying to sleep before, but now it was seriously a joke, so he got the hell out of bed. As usual, his leg twinged in protest when he first pressed it against the hardwood, but he ignored it and shifted his weight, testing it out of habit to be sure it would hold up. His doctor had said he’d be allowed to skip the cane during the ceremony, and he really hoped he’d be able to limp down the aisle to stand by his brother without looking completely useless.

As he showered he mentally went through everything there was left to do. _1\. Keep Sammy from freaking the fuck out and running. 2. Don’t let any of the family get plastered until after seven p.m._ That about summed it up. At least the best man didn’t really have to do much besides stand there and look pretty.  

 

Sam was pacing. 

“Dude, you’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet.” Dean fidgeted with his boutonniere, leaning against a cabinet covered with crayon drawings in various kindergarten skill levels. The room for the groom and his entourage was probably a nursery on every other day.

Sam shot him a glare and kept pacing.

Dean sighed and got to his feet. “Alright, come on. Let’s go.”

Sam stopped pacing to stare at him. “Go? Where?”

“Outside, so you can chill the fuck out.” Dean grinned, and held up the flask he’d stashed inside his jacket.

Sam followed him out. He actually had to duck his stupidly tall frame to fit through the doorway. It was probably his hair adding a couple inches with that shampoo-commercial volume.

They went around to the back of the main building, where the wedding party had all parked. As they walked, Dean texted Jo, telling her to make sure Ruby stayed hidden inside for a few minutes.

The Impala was sitting where they’d left her, parked in a prime position and buffed to a ridiculous shine in honor of the occasion underneath the smattering of water droplets left from that morning’s surprise rainstorm. Some enterprising individual (probably Ash) had already painted ‘Just Married’ across the rear window and strung some beer cans from the bumper. Dean untied the cans with disgust but left the paint. Ash knew that he’d die a horrible death if he'd used anything that could remotely damage Baby and whatever, Dean _was_ supposed to drive the Happy Couple to the reception anyway.

They settled on top of the trunk, Dean with much more swearing and cursing his leg than usual, leaning back against the glass.

“So,” Dean said, looking straight ahead.

“So,” Sam agreed.

Dean pulled out the flask and handed it over. Sam took a swallow without comment.

They were quiet for several minutes, just sitting.

“Look,” Dean said, glancing at his brother. “You’ll do fine, Sammy.”

Sam glanced away. “But what if I don’t?”

Dean scoffed. “Dude, you’ve been a perfectionist since preschool. You kicked ass in college, given a few snags here and there. Your fiancé, though undoubtedly evil, loves you like crazy. And you’re a Winchester. You’ll be fine.”

Sam sighed, long and hard. “But what if I screw up? What if I—what if me and Ruby…I don’t want us to end up the way we were in college.”

Dean glared at him. “Now listen here. You are stronger than this. You and Ruby have both been clean for eight years. I may not have been here every day of that, but I know there is no way in hell you’re going to let what happened in the past bring you down. I forgave you. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, we all did. It’s about damn time you forgave yourself.” He turned away again, looking out over the hills surrounding the Pescadero goat farm. “Now shut up and drink. That’s some old-ass Jameson, and you’d better appreciate it.”

Sam looked at him for just a moment, before the corner of his mouth upturned and he took another swallow. “Jerk.”

Dean stole the flask back from him. “Bitch.”

 

Half an hour later Dean was standing on the other side of the compound with Ash and Adam, who had shown up with fifteen minutes to spare but grinning fit to burst, waiting for the cue to walk forward. Sam had already gone out, bringing Ellen to her seat. Lisa and Jo walked into the little outbuilding they were waiting in, along with a redhead Dean didn’t know, escorting a familiar little girl sporting a crazy head of curls. He grinned at Grace, and she smiled back, though she was focusing very seriously on holding her basket. Lisa strolled up to him, a complete knockout in the form-fitting red dress. 

“You ready?”

“Of course.” She gave him a grin. 

It was only slightly awkward being paired with someone he’d slept with (several times, in a variety of imaginative positions) to escort down the aisle. It was made less awkward because two years after they broke up, he'd introduced her to her current girlfriend. Which had been kind of unexpected when it happened, but he wasn’t exactly one to judge. Besides, both Charlie and Lisa were pretty hot, and Dean Winchester was never going to have a problem with two hot chicks making out, even if he didn’t get to watch it. 

The music started and Adam and Jo strolled off, steps measured. Dean’s half-brother was going for a dignified walk but mostly looked constipated, in Dean’s expert opinion. They turned the corner and disappeared, heading for the greenery-strewn aisle. Ash and the redhead went next, and Dean counted to twenty before moving after them. Before they turned the corner, Dean glanced back and just caught sight of Ruby walking into place alone. She was arguing with herself. Dean shot her a cocky salute and turned around before she could mime something vicious.

The ceremony was set to take place in the middle of a woodland garden hidden in the trees behind the main farm. Flowers were everywhere, strewn around the chairs, surrounding the altar, and growing on the rosebushes surrounding the dell. Some of them looked a bit waterlogged, but most of it must have been set up in the three hours since it had finally stopped raining. He had to hand it to the totally girly, hippie place Sam and Ruby had picked – they were good at their job. 

Dean plastered on his most winning smile and guided Lisa forward. The guests, fewer than fifty total, were turned in their seats to watch them walk. He didn’t recognize most of them, but he saw a couple of mutual friends, and then towards the front all of their family, very few of them actual blood relations. Ellen was in the front row, an empty seat next to her. 

As they walked, Dean noticed one guy alone in the fifth row looking awkward and out of place. He wore a suit, more dressed up than most of the guys there, but it was covered with the most ridiculous, baggy trench coat, unbuttoned and splayed open, that Dean had ever seen. He was one of the only people not craning their necks to watch. When Dean passed him, the guy was just staring down at his empty hands, resting on his knees.

They reached the front, and Dean let Lisa go to take his position: half-facing the audience, between Adam and Sam. He bumped Adam’s elbow and Adam slid one of his polished shoes onto Dean’s foot, bearing down in retaliation. Ellen shot them both a glare.

Grace was coming into sight now, beginning her walk down the aisle. She was alone, the rings already safely in Dean’s pocket. Ben was the only kid either Sam or Ruby knew who could have been a ring bearer, but he had insisted that he was too old at ten. He was sitting in the second row next to Charlie, waving madly at Lisa and looking wistful. 

The little girl was very serious as she walked, intently focused on evenly scattering the petals in her basket across the entire aisle. She only looked up once, as she passed that awkward-looking guy, smiling brilliantly at him before returning to her task. When she reached the end of the aisle she skipped a little, unable to contain her satisfaction, and several audience members sighed or chuckled. She settled herself again and slotted into place, standing right next to Lisa. Dean caught her eye and shot a quick grin and a wink. Grace’s answering smile was enormous.

The music changed and the assemblage stood, tension wiring through the crowd. It wasn’t the Wedding March. Ruby had hissed when Sam even suggested it. Instead it was some different old-ass piece of music, probably also written by a dead guy with a name five syllables too long. Not that hideous Pachelbel’s Canon shit, at least, so Dean wouldn’t make too much fun of them.

Ruby came into sight, escorted by Bobby who had apparently caught up to them in the nick of time. The old mechanic looked hilariously out of place with his slicked-back hair and his just-this-side-of-too-tight tux, complete with dark red cummerbund. But Ruby, Dean had to admit, looked gorgeous. Her dress wasn’t the usual poofy bullshit. It was mostly form-fitting, only flaring out around her knees, and showed off the curves that Dean always teased her about, claiming they had to be fake on such a short chick. Usually she liked to lounge around in ridiculously baggy clothing (probably Sam’s, come to think of it) and generally looked like a skinny little kid drowning in emo and oversized sweatshirts. Today, though, she looked like someone who might actually be worthy of his little brother, lips a vibrant splash of fittingly ruby red. Her hair even looked nice, partially up in one of those super painful-looking bun things. 

The music was loud enough that nobody else heard Adam whispering, “Five bucks says she trips in those heels.”

Dean shoved him gently. “Dude, this is a special day for Sammy, have some respect. And you’re totally on.”

She didn’t. She was graceful and surefooted the entire way down the aisle. And she was wearing the most ridiculous smile Dean had ever seen on her face. About a third of the way down, Dean turned to watch Sam instead. And, well, if Sammy looked that ridiculously happy, happier than Dean had seen him in years, maybe this really would work out. 

Sam looked positively worshipful when Bobby handed Ruby off to him. Before letting go, Bobby fixed him and Ruby both with a stern glare. “You take damn good care of each other now, you hear?”

Sam swallowed sharply. “Yeah, Bobby. Yeah.”

Ruby smiled up at him and Bobby both. “Don’t worry about a thing, Pops.” Bobby snorted, twitched his mustache, and turned away. Dean got just a glimpse of the sheen to his eyes as he sat down next to Ellen, who was openly tearing up already. 

Pastor Jim began the ceremony. He’d flown in from Kansas for the occasion. Dean tuned most of it out. It was the usual marriage stuff, and Sam and Ruby had written their own vows (because despite what Ruby claimed, she was just as much of a sap as Sammy).

Instead he watched the crowd while pretending to be smiling fixedly at the couple, trying to ignore the steadily rising discomfort in his leg. His eyes roved from the musicians (the cellist was surreptitiously scratching himself) to the staff of the farm stationed at the end of the aisle (an older couple who looked genuinely enraptured and teary-eyed). 

The guests were all pretty nondescript. College friends of the bride and groom. The few remaining relatives from both families. And that one man in the trench coat who was now watching the ceremony intently, face expressionless. He seemed to feel Dean’s gaze, and he turned his face up to regard Dean with the same intensity. Their eyes locked, frozen momentarily, before Dean looked back to Sam and Ruby to break the awkward contact. The guy looked familiar for some reason. 

The ceremony was as brief as possible for a wedding, but his leg and lower back were still throbbing by the time Dean handed over the rings. He drew the moment out anyway, catching Sam’s eyes for several long seconds, trying to say as much as possible in his silent smile. Sam got it. Sam always got it, and his returning smile was brilliant.

When Pastor Jim finally started the “You may now kiss—” bit, Sam didn’t bother waiting. Instead he drew Ruby into his arms immediately, swooping her into an outrageous dip. Dean wolf-whistled first, breaking the crowd’s silence, and then there was cheering and clapping and indistinct shouting and music again. Instead of throwing rice, the guests showered the wedding party with more flower petals as they returned up the aisle. One of Sam’s college buddies stood up as he passed and stuffed a handful of petals down the back of his jacket. Dean was grinning as he dragged Lisa along after, despite the fact that he was limping heavily after standing for so long. 

Pictures were a pain in the ass that he smiled through with gritted teeth. Rather than going without, he just hid his cane behind his body in most of the shots. When it got really bad and the photographer fussed over their positions for what felt like an eternity, Sam would surreptitiously lean into Dean, positioning himself to take some of his weight, while Adam would quickly do the same from the other side. Neither of them said a word about it, just smiling. Every time it happened, he felt useless, like a burden on his brother’s wedding day. This was Sam’s day, and he should be focusing on his wife, not his brother. But he never pulled away, just plastered on his usual grin and played the proud older brother. 

The reception was held in one of the refurbished barns and was already swinging by the time they finally escaped the nutso photographer. The entire gig was an endless stream of small talk, alcohol, and the clinking of wineglasses every couple of minutes so everyone could watch Sam macking with his wife. Why that was a tradition, Dean had no friggin’ clue. 

He escaped a conversation with a great aunt from his mom’s side and moved to stand next to a wall, holding a tumbler of scotch. Open bars were the best thing about weddings. Not that he’d actually been to that many weddings. 

He only really noticed how close he was to the dance floor when he was dragged onto it by Ash and Garth. They pulled him into the middle of a crowd and danced around him like the dumbasses they were. Dean tried valiantly to escape, but gave in after being hemmed in again. He danced awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth for a whole song, still holding his drink in one hand and his cane in the other, but then the YMCA started and he was out of there. 

He’d almost made it back to his wall when someone tugged at the tail of his coat. “Dean? Why aren’t you dancing?”

It was Grace. She looked disgustingly adorable in her frilly purple dress. Someone had pinned a bunch of flowers in her hair, and the effect was dangerous. He didn’t usually go for that kind of description, but she literally looked like an angel. An angel with an evil agenda. 

“Sorry, Gracie, dancing’s not really my thing.” He grinned down at her.

“Oh,” she said, soft, looking down at her sandals. 

God dammit.

“Do you want me to dance with you, sweetheart?” he asked, regretting the question instantly. 

“Only if you want to,” she said, completely seriously.

Dean did the YMCA. And then he tried to do the Electric Slide. He gave up after Cotton-Eyed Joe, returning to the head table. Grace followed him. 

He pulled out the chair next to him for her. “So, Gracie, how’ve you been?” Sam and Ruby had brought her with them when they visited several more times after the first, but he hadn’t seen her for a couple weeks.

“My daddy’s home,” she said, and her face broke out into a smile that should definitely be made illegal. 

“Is he, now? Finally made his escape then?”

She frowned. “Daddy didn’t escape. He was honorably discharged.” Seriously, she was too young to look so serious. And four syllable words out of a six-year-old girl? Who even was this kid?

“My bad,” he said, waving away the protest. “I totally didn’t mean it. I’m sure your dad is perfectly, um, honorable.”

“You should meet him!” she said, sitting up suddenly, looking like she’d had the greatest idea in the world. “My daddy is wonderful,” she stated it like an absolute truth.

“Whoa, kid, slow down there. I’m sure your pops is great,” he said, but she interrupted him again.

“I’ll be right back!” she chirped, and scurried off her chair. She still managed to run off with the straightest back he’d ever seen on a first grader. 

“What a little weirdo,” he murmured, grinning. He busied himself again with his scotch, and watched the dance floor. Everyone was starting to clear off it; it must’ve been almost time for Sam and Ruby's first dance. 

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean looked around. It was some guy in a black suit, complete with black shirt and black tie. He also carried a cane, but he walked perfectly upright as he drifted over. His accent was obviously British. He looked…smarmy. 

“Yeah, I’m Dean,” he said gruffly.

The man held out a hand. “The name’s Crowley. Robert Singer said you’re looking to buy.”

Dean stared at him, uncomprehending.

The man sighed. “I’m a dog breeder, mate. German Shepherds, Belgian Malinois. Working animals.”

Dean groaned. “Look, I know I told Bobby I’d think about it, but it’s not going to happen. I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to find someone else.”

Crowley smiled at him. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile. “Well, emergency services get first pick of the litters, but these pups officially go on the open market after next weekend. You have until then to change your mind. Take my card. I think you’ll be needing it.”

Dean doubted it, but he took the card anyway so the guy would leave. It was emblazoned with a logo that had altogether too many curly bits. “‘Fergus Crowley: Canine Supplier and Consultant.’ What the hell does that mean?” He stuffed the card into his pocket and took an angry sip of his drink.

The slow strains of a guitar and cello drifted out of the DJ’s speakers, and Sam and Ruby swept onto the floor, hand in hand. They looked good. 

“Excuse me,” began a new voice, startling in its gravel.

“Oh my God, what?” Dean snapped as he turned around. Why the fuck couldn’t people leave him alone?

It was Trench Coat Guy. Up close his hair was just bordering on too messy to be socially acceptable, and he had eyes so blue Dean felt like they were x-raying him, which didn’t make any sense. He looked affronted by Dean’s response, lips tight and scowl in place.

“I’m sorry to have apparently offended you. Grace asked me to come talk to you.” How did voices get that deep, seriously?

“Oh shit, you’re Castiel. Look man, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” Dean had known he looked familiar. “Here, sit down.”

Castiel sat in the chair that Grace had vacated. “It has been several years, yes. And the circumstances of our original meeting were not ideal.” He wasn’t frowning as heavily, but was still staring at Dean with those x-ray eyes. He shifted slightly, a brief show of awkwardness. 

“No, not…ideal.” Castiel had been the one who found Sam’s phone after the accident in his freshman year of college. It wasn’t exactly the way to meet someone, outside a hospital room because your brother had been so high on so much shit that he’d walked into traffic nearly naked in the middle of winter. Sam had very nearly been kicked out of school. It had been sheer luck he’d graduated at all after how fucked up he’d been that second semester. Dean had been so damn terrified and angry that he barely remembered meeting Castiel. The whole thing was a blur of bitter rage.

It was soon after that that he’d moved to Idaho.

They stared at each other in silence for several moments. It took Dean forever to look away. It felt like those blue eyes were stabbing into him, holding him in place and refusing to let him go.

Castiel broke the silence. “Grace seemed very intent that I should meet you. I believe she visited you several times while she was staying with Sam and Ruby?”

Dean finally looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, they brought her down to my place a couple times. She’s a really great kid.”

“Yes, she is,” the other man said simply.

They lapsed into silence again. Dean tried not to fidget, but his leg was aching, and he rubbed it stubbornly. 

On the dance floor, Sam and Ruby were wrapped around each other, no longer trying to move very much, just swaying back and forth.

“Forgive me, again, but I also…I also think you were the firefighter who answered the call that night? You got Meg out?”

Jesus fuck.

“Yeah,” Dean said, but it came out as more of a whisper. “Yeah, I tried to get her out.”

He glanced back, and Cas was watching him again, head tilted slightly. The movement was familiar, and he suddenly knew exactly where Grace got it. 

“You said tried. That is incorrect. You, and the crew you led, succeeded in removing her from the building. Along with several others, I was told.”

Shit. He couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t. “Yeah, I mean, I tried to get her and everyone else out in time. But I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Dean, the doctors informed me that she would have been unlikely to survive unless she'd been brought in well before the fire even started. You did all that you possibly could, and by all accounts, more than could be expected, very nearly sacrificing yourself.” His voice was calm. Too damn calm.

Dean wanted to scream. 

He wanted this man to scream. He wanted him to tear into Dean, rip into him with bloody words, leave him in tattered pieces.

“You don’t think you deserved to make it out of there,” Cas said suddenly, and Dean whipped his head up to stare at him. “You don’t think you deserved to be saved that night. Why is that?”

Dean couldn’t answer him, and he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. For a second he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Daddy, what are you and Dean talking about?” The moment shattered, and suddenly Dean could breathe again. Cas looked stunned also, and shook his head before turning to Grace, who was standing by his knee. 

“We were discussing Dean’s job as a firefighter, Grace.” Cas said carefully, with a glance to Dean. 

“Well, old job. Can’t exactly do that anymore.” Dean cleared his throat.

Grace frowned at him, worried. “What are you going to do now?”

“Well I, I’ve been working at my…dad’s auto shop. And he’s trying to get me to go get a dog. Wants me to train it for search and rescue or something.”

Cas looked interested. “I was able to work with several experienced SAR teams in my previous job. It’s a wonderful service that they perform.”

Dean laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess. But I mean, I don’t know the first thing about dogs. It just doesn’t seem like it’d be fair to the dog.”

Grace shook her head. “No, dogs are easy. Mommy and I had a puppy for a while, but he ran away. But he was a really good dog. A really, really good one.”

“Indeed,” Cas said. “Training a dog or any other animal simply requires patience. But the rewards are great. I have seen the kind of good that search dogs can do.

“I guess, maybe I could…” Dean trailed off, feeling slightly desperate. Topic change pronto.

“I’ll come with you, and make sure you pick out a good one,” Grace volunteered. 

Both Dean and Cas stared at her.

“Is that so?” Dean choked out.

She nodded emphatically. “Yes. Daddy can take me.”

Dean stared at Cas, semi-frantic. 

Cas nodded slowly. “I…suppose. Yes, that could be arranged. Perhaps I could also provide some…assistance. I did some work with military-trained dogs, not so long ago.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Dean cleared his throat. “Um, sure, I guess.” He ran his hands through his hair. He was breathing too fast and his heart was pounding. What the hell was he doing?

“Does Tuesday work for you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come hang out with me on tumblr.](clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com)


	3. Up Around the Bend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it's been like a year. Sorry. Any updates will continue to be sporadic. And sorry if the ending is abrupt, as it's been so long I just wanted to get this up.

Up Around The Bend

 

_You can ponder perpetual motion_

_Fix your mind on a crystal day_

_Always time for good conversation_

_There’s an ear for what you say_

* * *

 

“Oh boy.”

Dean stopped outside the apartment, 

This is a Bad Idea. He’d been known for having a few of those, and this was definitely one of them. He tried to remind himself why he agreed to this in the first place. There was nothing. Freaking terrible idea. 

There was still time to back out. He could turn around, get back inside Baby and just get the hell out of there. But he thought about Sam’s face after the reception when Dean told him, still slightly dazed, about deciding to go get the dog. He’d look so damn happy, just married and his poor troubled brother apparently getting his shit together. 

He knocked. 

He thought about making a run for it.

The door opened. “Hello Dean.”

Dean grinned, shooting for totally-cool and not internally-freaking-out. “Um, Hey Cas. Or Castiel, sorry. It’s good to see you again.”

Cas regarded him for a moment, before opening the door fully and beckoning him inside. “You may shorten my name to one syllable if you wish. I don’t mind.”

Okay then. “Sure, I guess. Cas it is.”

Cas smiled at him, a small uptick. He looked so much more relaxed here than he had at the wedding. Which had been weird on all counts, so whatever. 

“So, are you guys ready to head?” Dean asked, looking around the foyer. Cas’ apartment had a foyer. 

“Very nearly. I believe Grace is just gathering some things for the drive.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “It’s an hour long, what’s she need?”

Before he could reply, Grace strolled around the corner. She looked like she’d just walked out of a commercial. Her ridiculous curls were tucked under this freaking red knitted cap with a tiny, completely useless brim. She had on a tiny red wool trench coat, buttoned perfectly, and there were little bows on her stockings. She was like every grandmother’s fondest wish come true. It was ridiculous.

“Hey there Shirley Temple,” Dean said, dropping down to one knee so he could look her in the eye.

She grinned at him, a huge open smile. “Hello Dean!” she said, and hugged him around the neck. 

“Nice hat,” Dean pulled back and flicked the brim. “Are you ready to go?”

Grace went over to Cas before answering, grabbing his hand. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Dean led the way out to the Impala, but waited for Cas to grab Grace’s booster seat out of his own car, a dark blue Honda, before opening the back door for her. She pursed her lips at the sight of it, but didn’t argue like he expected she would. Instead she settled in without complaint, and buckled herself easily. Dean hopped into the front, and waited for Cas to slide into the seat next to him. 

“You all set back there?” he asked, turning around.

Grace was pulling several books out of the little red bag she’d had slung over her shoulder. She finished with a small stuffed otter, one of those ones filled with beans. “Yes. All set,” she said, sliding the otter into the seat next to her, facing front. She very carefulled opened one of the books, the rest in a neat pile next to the otter. 

Dean remembered a soot-stained stuffed rabbit, and thought, _later_. 

Dean glanced at Cas. “So books, huh? That’s what she was getting?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. Grace has been doing remarkably well with reading. She finishes first grade this week, but she’s already reading full books at the second grade level.” His voice was unmistakably proud.

Dean started the Impala, a familiar, comforting sound. “That’s pretty dang cool,” he said, backing out. 

“I think so as well.”

The silence as Dean pulled onto the highway wasn’t exactly awkward, but it sure as hell wasn’t comfortable. There was a big, mostly unacknowledged _soemthing_ hanging over them. A something that was entirely about that conversation they’d half had at the Reception. Dean wasn’t quite sure what the hell was an appropriate topic of conversation with this guy, who he’d just barely met, but who had somehow managed to pinpoint way more of the unacknowledged shit Dean was carrying around than most of Dean’s closest friends ever had.  

Okay it was totally awkward.

Dean flipped on the radio, and it crackled to life on the same oldies station that he always had playing. He glanced at Castiel quickly, just out of the corner of his eye. They guy was staring ahead at the road, posture perfectly straight. He didn’t seem tense though. His hands were quiet, resting on his knees.

The song switched to Gordon Lightfoot, and then The Hollies. Then it switched again, and Dean couldn’t help a grin. He reached forward, turned it up just a bit.

“There’s a place up ahead and I’m going,” John Foggerty crooned, and Dean hummed along, tapping his hand on the steering wheel.

When it came to the chorus, Foggerty’s wasn’t alone. “Come on the risin wind,” Cas sang softly. When Dean stared over at him, Cas was already watching him, that same tiny small ticking up a corner of his mouth. 

Dean joined him on the next line. “We’re goin’ up around the bend,” he sang, and then he sand the “Oooh!” hamming it up more than a little bit. 

Grace giggled from the back, and he met her eyes in the mirror as they sang the next verse, and then the chorus again. He even pulled his hands off the wheel for a couple second to mime some air guitar during the solo. When the song finished, Grace was still giggling, clapping along with the beat, and Cas was full on grinning now. 

“So I take it you’re a Creedence fan?” Dean asked. 

“Yes. They were a favorite of my mother’s. I often find that I prefer some of the more classic bands, though there are modern artists I am fond of as well.”

“Buddy, you are preaching to the choir,” Dean said, and then he was off, asking for Cas’ opinion on The Rolling Stones and Zeppelin. They disagreed on Pink Floyd (“I’m sorry, but I find them to be highly overrated”) and on Metallica (“Come on Cas, they’re like foundational for everything that came after”). Somehow the conversation turned from old music to old movies (“Really Cas? John Wayne?”) to old books (“No, you know what, fuck Salinger. He’s a whiney bi-uh, brat.” “Dean, I think you’re failing to take into account the value of such an honest, simplistic narrator.”).

It wasn’t so awkward after all.

 

The house was huge. No, fuck that, it wasn’t a house. It was a God damned _estate_. 

“I wonder how a dog breeder comes by such an extensive property,” Castiel murmured next to him. 

Dean nodded. “Definitely over-compensating for something. No doubt about it.”

They pulled into the long driveway, past the open gates. (The gate needs to open) The massive field of a front lawn was dotted with dogs. Heads perked up, turning to follow them as they rolled up the ridiculously long driveway, but none of the dogs moved to follow.

Dean parked, and turned off the car, but didn’t immediately get out. He watched the steering wheel, tapping his finger gently against it. _Last chance to bail._

“Are you ready?” Cas asked gently. 

Dean looked up at him, forced a grin.

“Let’s do this thing.”

They piled out of the car, just as Crowley was strolling up. Two dogs flanked him, A Mal and a GSD, one on either side. They heeled him, perfectly in step, and sat down as soon as he stopped. It was probably supposed to be intimidating. 

“Hello boys. I was only expecting the one, don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended a hand for Castiel to shake. “Oh and look, a little lassie along as well. Nice little family outing, I see.”

Dean gritted his teeth slightly. “This is Castiel, and his daughter Grace.”

Cas glanced at Dean before taking Crowley’s hand. “A pleasure,” He murmured, unsmiling. 

Crowley turned to Grace. “Hello girlie. Grace is it? Want to say hello, Grace?” He placed hands on the heads of the dogs next to him. 

Grace nodded, shy in front of a stranger. Crowley clucked at the dogs and they left his side, sniffing eagerly at Grace’s hands. The Mal stuck his nose against her neck and licked her when she giggled. She looked absolutely delighted. “That’s Pearl taking a taste there. This gentleman is Jefferson.” Crowley pointed at the Shepherd, who was now nosing against Cas’ hands. Cas obliged, burying his fingers in the thick hair around the dog’s neck. Jefferson’s tail wagged, the end of it beating against Dean’s thigh. 

“Enough pleasantries. Let’d get down to business boys and girl.” He led them, not to the main buildings, but to a wing branching off to the left. Around the corner, there was a row of pens branching off from the wing. Each run was 10 feet wide and 40 feet long. Dogs lounged about across the lawn, sunning themselves. “Most of the dogs out now are my show stock. The current litter and their dam get the penthouse inside.” He nodded to them, and they trailed inside after him.

The inner kennels from the runs outside formed a line along one wall. More dogs looked up, regarding them evenly as they passed. Several crowded up against their cages, rubbing their sides along the chainlink just in case any of the humans were feeling generous. Grace ran a hand along every dog she passed, but didn’t try to stop. Though she looked like she considered it very seriously.

They passed through another room, and were greeted by a chorus of barking pups. Before they’d even approached the kennel that took up half the room, a whole line of puppies were wagging their tails furiously against the low fence, paws up against the sides, and crying for attention. The dam was sprawled out across a bed, though she had started watching them intently the moment they entered the room, alert for any threat. Crowley turned to the two dogs still heeling him obediently. “Pearl, Jefferson. Down.” And down they went, perfectly in sync. 

“They’re very well trained,” Cas observed. 

“Nice of you to notice. I do take great pride my work.” He turned to the pups. “These little heathens are just over 8 weeks old. They’re Shepinois, from Florence, this lovely German Shepherd here, and my prize-winning Belgian Malinois stud, Beelzebub.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “You named one of your dogs after the devil?"

“I prefer to think of him as my own little Prince of Hell. Regardless, Shepinois are starting to be quite prized as Designer Dogs for the avid collector. But they do just as well as a working dog as their mums and dads. You get the intelligence and comparatively sweet disposition of the GSD, and the higher athleticism of the Mal, with less of the tendency to want to rip a hole into a stranger. Bit lower drive than the Mal, but it actually works to an advantage. And they’ll still keep you on your toes.

Dean nodded. He’d read the book, and done some research, but he still felt like he’d been thrown off the deep end. 

“Have you had the parents tested? OFA, CERF?” Cas spoke up. Dean remembered the acronyms vaguely from some website.

“What do you take me for?” Crowley grumped. “Of course. None but the best for my breeding stock. I can show off all the tidy paperwork later after you pick out the pup, if you like.”

Dean looked down at Grace, who was pressed up against his side, staring at the flood of puppies with such a longing, sad expression. The pups were still whining and growling for attention, jumping up against the fence and falling all over each other. “Hey, you wanna go say hi?”

She looked up at him and her eyes were freaking shining. 

“Crowley, can you take Grace in to say hello to everyone?” Cas spoke up. “Dean and I would like to observe them for a little while.” Cas shot Dean a quick, small smile. 

“But of course. After you lass,” he said, and ushered her into the pen. The puppies went ballistic, jumping up immediately to lick at her face. Crowley growled at them, a stern “No!” and they receded, still jumping, but not actually landing. A couple of the more timid ones fell back completely, cowering. Dean wrote them off immediately. Timid, extremely submissive pups weren’t cut out for any kind of serious work. Grace giggled and buried herself in the rest of the puppies, dropping to her knees and letting almost a dozen pups lick frantically at her face and arms. Crowley kept the more adventurous pups from scratching her in their enthusiasm.

“What are we looking for, specifically?” Cas asked under his breath, leaning in close. 

“From what I’ve read, and talking to Bobby, we need a pup with an extremely high prey and play drive. They gotta chase the ball, ya know. That’s, um, the main way they’re trained for search work. Assertive, but not the most dominant. High energy levels, but able to focus. Doesn’t scare easily, and non-agressive. Thinks humans are the absolute bomb.”

Cas nodded, focusing intently on the puppies slobbering over his daughter. “That all sounds reasonable.”

“If we can narrow it down, there are some tests we can do to make a final selection. 

They watched the pups play. After a couple more minutes of aggressive loving, most of the puppies got bored with the new addition to their enclosure and wandered away. One little pup had just crawled all the way into her lap and flopped completely, splaying out all limbs. That one had a purple ribbon tied around its neck. A different pup with a tiny teal collar was sniffing into her hair, determined to find either food or a tasty bit of skin to lick. Grace was giggling so hard her face was turning red.

They discussed the puppies in undertones while they danced around Grace.

“Maybe that little female with the pink collar?” 

“How do you know it’s a female?”

“Dude c’mon. Pink collar.” 

“Hmm. I suppose. But assigning gender designations based on arbitrary modern associations seems a bit unnecessary. Also she seems a bit too easily startled. How about that male with the blue ribbon?”

“Now who’s assigning arbitrary designations?”

“Dean. Focus. He seems very brave.”

“Probably a little too much. He’s got his ears chewed on by that little guy with the green ribbon like 5 times and hasn’t given up yet.”

“I suppose you’re right. How about…”

In the end, they narrowed it down to three, and Crowley ushered them into the next room to await the pups one at a time. 

Crowley opened the door, and let the pup, a little female with a red collar wander in ahead of him, sniffing the ground eagerly. Her body was more the coloration of a Shepherd, but she had the distinctive black muzzle and tan head of a Mal. Her head shot up as soon as she noticed them, and she bounded forward immediately, racing for Cas, who was in front. She piled into his lap without preamble. “Oh. Hello,” Cas murmured to her.

She chewed on his hand agreeably. 

Grace scooted over closer to her father’s side and scratched the pup’s neck. The puppy sniffed the hand eagerly, then followed it straight into Grace’s lap instead.

“Great. You guys keep her distracted for a sec.” Dean stood up, and walked quietly around behind them in a circle. The pup watched him as he went, tail wagging, probably wondering why this third person wasn’t petting her too.

“Here girl,” Cas murmured, and picked her up again. She immediately turned away from Dean to attack Cas’ earlobe. 

When Dean was on the far side of the room and the pup was ignoring him, he clapped loudly. The pup whipped around to stare at him. She wiggled, undulating until Cas was forced to let her go, and she immediately trotted over to Dean, sniffing around his feet and staring up at him. 

He clapped again with her watching, and she whined at him. She jumped up, scrabbling her paws against his knee. 

He knelt down, and buried his fingers in her fur. She was so soft. “Yeah, you’re a good girl. Don’t spook easily do you?”

She whined again and stood against his chest to lick his nose. 

“Call her back,” he murmured, and Cas whistled.

“Here girl,” he called, and she turned to look at him, paws still on Dean’s chest. She whined indecisively, turning from Cas to Dean and back. Cas called her again, and she took off for him instead, tail wagging. Dean followed her over, pulling a crumpled a piece of paper from his pocket. He positioned his hand behind his back, and rolled the paper across the floor, letting it make a loud crinkling noise. The puppy turned to look at him curiously, watched for a second, and when the noise wasn’t repeated, continued trotting across the floor back to Cas. 

She flopped into Cas’s lap, and Cas scratched behind her ears. She attempted to gnaw on his fingers. 

Grace stuck her hand back under the puppie’s nose, and was rewarded with a thorough slobbering for her efforts. She giggled, and Dean’s had to grin looking at them. He looked up, and Cas was watching him.

“Do you want to look look at the other pups?” Cas asked, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth. 

Dean grinned back at him. No. No I think she’ll do just fine. 

Cas trailed a hand down the puppy’s back. “It’s definitely a bit early, but did you think of possible names before you came?”

Dean had. He’d thought too much about it probably. In the end, he’d turned to his favorite books. 

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna call her Rosie.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Rosie's name is derived from is God Bless You Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut.
> 
> I always appreciate feedback.
> 
> [Come hang out with me on tumblr.](clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> [Come hang out with me on tumblr.](clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com)


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